marlowemuses | The One Secret I Never Told You

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The One Secret I Never Told You

Ronan was coming home.

He'd sent ahead, Adam supposed. Letter or telegram. And he'd said... what? Adam had no idea. No one had even bothered to tell him. He'd overheard some of the other servants discussing preparations.

That stung, though it shouldn't. He'd always known that their childhood friendship was temporary. Illusory. He'd been a bauble to Ronan, a friendship that came easily and could be cheaply kept.

And when Ronan had been old enough, he'd left. That made sense, too. His father's death, the upheaval of his life, the culmination of the conflict between Ronan and Declan.

What hurt was that he hadn't needed Adam anymore.

Squeaks and whispers preceded the general bustle of servants toward the main hall. Adam stayed out of the way, stealing toward an upper window to catch a glimpse. He wouldn't be missed among the larger array of servants. He was only an under-footman, after all.

Hidden behind a lace curtain, Adam peeked out to watch as Ronan descended from the coach. He'd grown. Taller than Adam remembered. His charming black curls were gone, shorn to a short bristle. The man he'd become was someone handsome and commanding, drawing attention like a thunderstorm.

Adam's heart thudded, then clenched.

Oh.

He'd hoped, all those years, that ignoring his childhood crush would make it go away. That Ronan's distance would make Adam forget him, so that he could focus once and for all on his career. His career, which was the only thing that mattered. The only thing he had left.

Seeing Ronan brought it all back, with more intensity than ever.

Adam was in love with him. And always had been.

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"You don't need to worry about me, sir," Adam said, closing his eyes briefly and then drawing himself up, restored to himself. "I'm ready to serve."

He glanced around them subtly, knowing that these hallways were nearly as hostile to Ronan as they were to Adam. The gossip was vicious, and Declan's household was not fond of Ronan, aside from the few older servants who had known him as a child. "Your rooms may not yet be clean. I ought to return and supervise the process. Is there anything else you require of me at the moment?"

Ronan watched Adam with sharp eyes, taking in the other man's state. There would be no making Adam rest now; too stubborn, prideful, he'd refuse and insist on working. Which was fine. It simply meant Ronan had to be more creative in getting him to relax a little.

"No," he said, finally looking away and down the hall. There was a shadow lingering; someone hiding around the corner and listening, but not realizing that their shadow betrayed them.

"No. You are dismissed."

Ronan hated what his brother had down to this house. Before, servants spying was a rare thing. Now? One had to watch their tongue lest Declan get wind of something. Not that Ronan cared about fighting his brother. Adam, on the other hand, was a different story.

"Thank you, sir." Bowing to Ronan, Adam retreated out to the Barns. There was plenty to do, and he wanted to personally manage as much of it as possible. Thankfully, the cleaning was underway, though with less enthusiasm than he would have liked.

He took command of the situation immediately, getting the servants to report on the maintenance of the place so that he could decide what to prioritize, what to clean, what to repair or replace. He arranged for a smaller pallet for himself to be placed in the corner, with thicker blankets than he'd ever had before.

Preparing a home for Ronan made him feel deeply satisfied. Even though he could never have the love he wanted from Ronan, he could at least have the pleasure of caring for him and making sure that everything was to Ronan's taste.

Ronan stood in the same spot as Adam retreated, and then wandered the halls. Halls of his childhood. It hurt, to think that he would never find his father walking them again. Back when Declan wasn't as much of an asshole, and his mother would float outside, happy to simply live life.

Eventually he made his way back to the Barns, chewing on a piece of meat bread that the cook had given him when he passed by the kitchen.

"How's it looking?" he asked Adam, glancing around as he strode inside. It looked and felt cleaner. "No huge rats nests, I hope." But if there was, maybe they could transport them to Declan's room. It was a satisfying thought.

A smile flickered over Adam's face at the sight of Ronan healthy and relaxed. Hope looked better on Ronan than rage, though Adam loved him either way. "Go and look," he said, nodding toward the ladder.

"The structure of the building is sound," Adam continued, as he watched Ronan climb the ladder. "There's no damage, only dust. Everything's just about finished. Shall I go ahead and draw you a bath now?"

At the top of the ladder, Adam had arranged to have the bed made with dark blue sheets, a soft pale blue blanket, and the blue and white patchwork quilt that Ronan's mother had made, long ago, patterned like the ocean. He'd arranged to hang draperies from the hooks in the ceiling, offering a canopy above the bed to protect it, and drapes all around for privacy and warmth. Soft rugs carpeted the loft floor, and a tea service was waiting, still hot, on the little table. Only Adam's cot looked out of place, tucked into the corner with white sheets and dark green blankets. It looked cozy, and Adam was excited to have something so lovely for his own, but it was still ill-fitting and disappointing by comparison to what he'd prepared for Ronan.

Ronan was entranced the moment he saw the quilt that Adam managed to find. Stepping forward, he brushed his hand across the patches, remembering when his mother had stitched it together. The rest was lovely as well; Adam had quickly turned the empty loft into something livable.

"You did a good job," he said, not because he was trying to make Adam feel good, but because it was true. It felt clean and homey. Much better than every inch of the mansion did.

It was good that the structure was sound. There was no need to bother Declan about anything, then. Which was how Ronan preferred it.

At the mention of a bath Ronan turned his head. It had been a long trip, and a bath actually sounded nice.

"Yeah," he said as he unbuttoned his vest and made to kick off his shoes, "that'd be good. It's been a long day."

Adam knew he had done well. He remembered Ronan well enough to recognize the signs of his pleasure and approval.

Heart soaring with pride to have pleased Ronan, he bowed briefly and headed for the bathing room. There was a shining copper tub, freshly polished, and a little coal stove, already lit, under a basin of water. It pumped up from the wells below the ground, fresh, sweet water.

Adam opened the spigot, finding the water already plenty hot. He pulled his hand back quickly, lightly scalded, and let the basin fill. It was scalding at first, the heated water from the basin, but as the basin drained, Adam worked the pump to fill it with cold spring water, mixing with the heated water and cooling it until it was merely steaming.

A small array of bath salts rested by the side of the tub, scents that Adam had chosen. He added one that was scented with juniper and bergamot, hoping Ronan would like it.

While Adam was in the other room, Ronan stepped a bit closer to where he'd set his own bed up. It was ... shabby, in comparison to what he had given Ronan. Not that Ronan cared about anything looking shabby. It was very Adam. He'd always been an abstemious kid.

Quietly, Ronan went to his bags. There were things he'd brought back for Adam, but now that he saw what Adam was like, he didn't think he'd outright accept his gifts. So he would have to slip them into Adam's life quietly, one thing at a time. The first was a rich hand cream. He remembered that Adam had sensitive, dry hands. Now, he was especially happy he'd picked this up, seeing how poorly Adam had been cared for.

He slipped the bottle underneath Adam's covers. He'd find it there.

Then he stripped himself of his shirt, leaving it folded on the bed. Normally he'd have just tossed it anywhere, but if Adam stayed with him, he'd probably try and clean up after him. Better to not make any extra work for his old friend.

Stepping into the doorway, he leaned against the frame, bare-chested and arms crossed. Only his pants were left on, hanging low on his hips, showing off the scant hair below his navel.

"What's that? Smells good."

Adam's eyes flicked over him, noting with appreciation that Ronan had gotten even more muscular in addition to the gained height.

Grateful for his darker complexion, which hid the blush as his eyes slipped downward, Adam quickly returned his attention to the bathwater. "Juniper and bergamot bath salts, sir," he said, stirring it with his hand to make sure it was the right temperature and then turning off the tap. Then he went to Ronan, eyes averted, intending to serve as a valet and aid him in undressing.

Breath quickening with nerves, he reached for Ronan's fly to help him out of his trousers.

Once Adam was close enough, standing right in front of him and hands helping unfasten his trousers, Ronan reached up and traced a finger lightly along Adam's hair. Longer. Much longer. But as soft as he remembered, sharing his bed as boys and tangled up together, limbs thrown this way and that.

"What did I say," said Ronan, voice low, "about calling me sir?"

Where Adam averted his gaze, Ronan refused to look at anything but his old friend. They were alone; they would hear anyone lurking outside. Even if they were, voices did not echo in the Barns. Never had. The old farm hand used to say that faeries protected the Barns. Ronan liked to believe that.

Closing his eyes, he dropped his hand. Touching made him want and wanting was dangerous.

"Juniper and bergamot, huh?"

Adam stilled, shivering briefly. It was unbelievably difficult to do this, standing so close to Ronan, with the man he loved tracing a finger over his hair. Adam yearned to tilt his head up and steal a kiss, but the thought of Ronan being shocked and disgusted was enough to prevent him.

"I beg your forbearance, sir," Adam murmured, unfastening the buttons of Ronan's trousers and kneeling so that he could draw them down along with Ronan's undergarments. He didn't dare look up, cheeks burning from how close he was to Ronan's naked cock. "It would be dangerous for me to call you Ronan." The name slipped like a thief from his lips, and Adam's heart thudded with fear and delight.

Rising quickly to his feet, Adam turned away. The wrong way, he realized after a moment. He'd put Ronan on his deaf side. Turning again, though it made him face the wall, Adam kept his eyes averted while he waited for request or command.

"I like when you do," he murmured, but that was when Adam turned away the first time. With a quizzical look Ronan watched as Adam turned again. Weird. It was enough to distract him from the fact that he was very, very naked in front of his childhood love. It meant nothing, he reminded himself, and to Adam he was probably like a piece of furniture. Just another thing in the house to be scrubbed down and made to look presentable.

Ronan watched him a moment longer, as though he expected an answer, and then looked away. "You can call me asshole, if you want. Been called that plenty of times." Stepping toward the bath, he passed Adam and stretched, showing the slick ink parading across the entire expanse of his back. Feathers and claws flexed with him.

Reaching down, he skimmed the top of the water with his fingers. It felt good, a careful temperature. "You don't have to wait around," he said, glancing at Adam from over his shoulder. "You can have the rest of the night for yourself."

"Thank you, sir," Adam said, taking it as a dismissal. He headed for the door, then paused, glancing back. His eye flicked again over that tattoo, those broad shoulders, the powerful muscles. The art was beautiful, and so heartbreakingly Ronan.

"I like your tattoo," he said, quietly, and then slipped out the door to escape.

He'd been given the evening off. All he wanted to do was sleep.

Instead, he spent some time attending to Ronan's needs, ensuring that he would have everything he needed. He ordered a large meal to be sent up, laying it out and taking a little for himself where the loss wouldn't be noticed. Leaving it for Ronan, Adam slipped off his boots and curled up on the bed with a book. His eyelids were heavy, but he didn't want to risk sleeping if Ronan still needed anything.

Ronan watched as Adam left. I like your tattoo. Those words lingered when he eased himself into the bath and scrubbed himself down. No one else had said they liked it. And Declan... his brother still didn't know. That was going to be an eruption. Ronan looked forward to it.

He took his time scrubbing himself down and thinking about Adam, about his homecoming, how everything seemed to have a bitter tinge. His childhood home was ruined by Declan. Adam... he'd was browbeaten. The only bit of magic left was in the barn. The barn, and one other place.

Once he was finished he dried himself off and wrapped the towel around his waist. He didn't say anything when he found dinner waiting, just a short nod, not surprised that Adam had done so. But he only ate half, leaving the other half for Adam to have, since he doubted Adam had been given a decent dinner in a long while.

Dressing in black on black, a tight fitting shirt and pants, Ronan stuck his hands into his pockets. "I'll be going out," he said simply, looking out the window as he spoke. It was night. Not that such things mattered to him.

Ronan looked breathtaking in his dark clothing. Like a shadow. A dragon. A blade. A viper.

Dressing up like that, Ronan would most likely be going out to find... companionship, Adam supposed. The thought hurt, though he knew that it was part of Ronan's birthright to enjoy the company of the young and beautiful, to marry a doting wife and have a string of mistresses. Like Declan.

"I understand," Adam said, heart aching. He kept his eyes averted, feeling abandoned even though he should have gotten used to the feeling of being left behind by Ronan. "Have a pleasant evening, sir."

"I won't," he promised, gaze lingering on Adam a bit longer. For a moment he considered asking his old friend to come with him—but Ronan was planning on being irresponsible, and didn't want Adam to get into trouble.

He would not have a pleasant evening. Upon arrival, it was only fitting for him to visit his father's grave. It was the only other bit of magic left.

Finally looking away, Ronan slid down the ladder and left the barn, stepping out into the crisp autumn night air. It was a bit of a walk to where the chapel and the family crypt was. On the outskirts of their land, with the chapel the topside, and the crypt of the Lynch family beneath. The estate had been in their family for generations, though Ronan had rarely heard much about his forefathers. Dreamers, inventors. Magical people, like his father.

He prayed at the cross. Sat in one of the pews and stared at the little stained glass windows. It was obvious that Declan hadn't kept the place up. Asshole. Pulling a flash out of his pocket, Ronan took swig after swig until he felt lightheaded. Then, he stumbled down the stone stairs of the crypt, hand against the wall to keep from falling. He took more swigs as he went. It was potent brandy, tasted like shit, but it hit him hard. Eyes glassy, he sat at the base of his father's stone, draining the flash of its contents—and then pulling out another one. Two flasks were better than one.

Ronan fell asleep there, cold and miserable, hating every second he was near his brother and their splintered family. Time didn't make it better, but alcohol did.

He did not return to the barn, not even when the sun cracked against the horizon. The cold was numbing and so was the booze.

"Sir?" Adam asked when Ronan said that. He wanted to protect Ronan from whatever unpleasant evening he had in mind.

When Ronan had gone, Adam curled up alone in his little bed, hoping to get some sleep. He was exhaustion, but worry and his fixation upon Ronan kept his mind whirling. Sleep was impossible.

He dozed restlessly for hours, worry increasing when Ronan didn't come home. Companionship was all well and good, he told himself, but it was unlikely that Ronan would spend the night with his... companion. And what had he meant when he had said he wouldn't have a pleasant night?

By dawn, Adam was out of his mind with worry. Ronan had gone out alone. What if he'd been hurt? Mugged? Stabbed?

He paced the loft, distraught. Where could Ronan be? Where else would he spend the night? With Gansey, maybe? But why... why say he wouldn't have a pleasant night? What had he intended to do? What had he done?

Worry tearing him apart, Adam tore at his hair. He'd let this happen. He'd let Ronan go out alone and he was hurt somewhere. Or he was simply being absurd and Ronan was fine. Ronan would come home any moment and want to know why his valet was useless with exhaustion.

Mid-morning, he finally thought of a possibility. Ronan had adored his father, and Ronan had always been deeply religious. He would have wanted to visit the crypt. He might still be there, or at least have stopped there on his way home.

It was a glimmer of hope, better than fretting endlessly. Adam seized his tattered coat, jumping down the ladder and hurrying out across the grounds to the old crypt.

He peeped into the chapel but saw nothing. Feeling like an intruder, he took a deep breath, then let himself down into the crypt, finding Ronan fast asleep with a pair of empty flasks on the floor near him.

Relief, dread, anger, and pain flashed through Adam. Hurrying to Ronan's side, he knelt by him, clasping Ronan's cheeks. His beloved--his employer--was cool, but not cold. There was still warmth in his skin, and his breath still stirred the air in shallow puffs. "Ronan," Adam said, beseeching and reprimanding, praying that his friend would awake. "Ronan."

Dreaming was easier in the crypt. He dreamed of his father, handsome Niall Lynch, all grins and mischief. Ronan had been his favorite, as Niall had been Ronan's favorite. In the dream Niall had been hugging Ronan, saying something that Ronan couldn't understand. It seemed important. Then Niall laughed and scrubbed at his son's head, through hair that was still thick and curled.

Then he heard his name. Once, twice. At first he thought it was his dad. Reprimanding, then worried. What did he do? What did he fuck up this time?

Slowly, Ronan opened his eyes. It wasn't Niall Lynch over him.

"Adam...?" he croaked, throat parched from too much booze and no water. Squinting, wearily, a little hung over and aching from sleeping on a cold stone floor.

"You look worried," he said, blankly, as though he couldn't quite fathom why.

Adam sighed, because he was worried, but he didn't want to upset Ronan. He just wanted to make sure Ronan was safe and warm. "It doesn't matter. Come on, I'll help get you back to the Barns."

Getting a shoulder under Ronan's, Adam tried to help Ronan to his feet, hoping desperately that he would cooperate.

Hungover and nearly freezing himself to death in a crypt. Adam wanted to yell at him, but he no longer had that luxury. As long as he could protect and care for Ronan, he'd be happy. He kept his face composed, trying his best to hide his worry and exhaustion. Only Ronan mattered. Adam's discomfort was immaterial. Everyone had always agreed on that. Everyone except, sometimes, Ronan. When he noticed.

"It does matter," he said, frowning, swatting away Adam's hands. Again, again Adam was stifling himself. They were in the goddamn crypt, totally alone, and he still couldn't drop the formalities?

"I'm not going. Tell me what you've been thinking. You're pissed I left, right? You probably fucking hate me. Now you had to drag your ass outta bed because I got drunk with some ghosts."

He dropped back onto the floor, exhaling sharply, body aching more than it had before. Shit, he'd slept in some awful places before, but stone was unforgiving.

"Until you talk openly I'm not going anywhere. And if you don't? Guess I'll just die here. Doesn't matter if I do or don't." If Adam hated him, which he very well should, Ronan needed to know. He couldn't bullshit like this forever.

"Ronan," Adam snapped, irritated. Ronan had just demanded that he let loose his temper, fine. He would. "I want you warm, I want you safe, I want you well-fed and well-rested. I'm not here because Declan sent me. I'm here, right here, because you didn't tell me where you were going, you didn't come back all night, and you left me sick and sleepless with worry that you were dead in an alley somewhere. Or, more likely, warm and sated in somebody's bed. But I didn't fucking know. What I'm thinking is that you're a selfish asshole and that if you die, I'll be alone forever. I'll be here forever. Because you left me. Again. Permanently."

Upset and shaking, Adam turned his back and hugged himself. He bit down hard on his lower lip, knowing that he shouldn't have said any of it, knowing that he hadn't said half of what Ronan had asked for.

Ronan smiled. It was a tired smile, yet genuine, a slight upturn of his thin lips.

"You finally got mad at me," he said, leaning back against a headstone and looking up at the other man. "You're right. I am selfish. And an asshole." He thought about the rest of what Adam said. "But I won't really die. Not while you still need me." Once Adam Parrish moved on... then he'd probably just waste away. Drink himself into an early grave—hah. With about as much finesse as he'd attempted last night.

Then, he wrinkled his nose, the rest of what Adam said catching up. "Wait, what? Fuck no. It'd be more likely that I'd be beaten up in a alleyway than someone's bed. That won't ever happen. Not when..."

He frowned once more, finally looking away from Adam's back. "Anyway. That all you wanna say? Get it out."

"That's all I want to say," Adam confirmed, reassured by Ronan's insistance that he wasn't going to be in anyone's bed. He hadn't said why, and Adam didn't dare ask, but he was glad to know it. "Now I want you to get up, drink some water, eat something, and warm up."

Shutting himself off again, Adam turned, expression blank as he held out his hand. "I'll help you inside, if you'll let me." His jaw clenched, still angry and bitter despite his resolve. "Sir," he added, just to prick Ronan's temper.

"Now you're just being a smartass," he accused, reaching up a cold hand to slip into Adam's.

Standing wasn't easy. He wobbled, had to take a minute to find his footing before he was able to keep upright. Ronan wasn't prone to illness, thankfully, outside of the hangover, so he wasn't too concerned.

"I want to say goodbye to dad first," he finally said, tone much more somber. "Last night was the anniversary of his death, you know. I don't think Declan gives a shit. Maybe he mourned in his own way. I dunno." It was hard to judge how Declan dealt with their father's murder. The elder Lynch brother had thrown himself into the family business; maybe that was his answer.

Reaching out, he pressed his palm against the tombstone. "It's been ...something, pops." Then he looked back at Adam and nodded, ready to go.

Adam kept a hand on Ronan's side, making sure that he really was going to stay upright.

When Ronan nodded, Adam's eyes lingered on the tombstone. Niall Lynch had meant a lot to Adam, since he'd allowed--sometimes even encouraged--his friendship with Ronan and had provided him with the only comforts and privileges that Adam had ever known. And yet he still felt like an intruder here. He was only a servant. His grief and loss didn't matter.

Letting go of Ronan, Adam stepped forward, placing his palm likewise against the stone and bending his head. "Thank you," he said, cheeks flushed as he turned away. Tense with embarrassment and fear that Ronan would be angry at him for the trespass, Adam headed for the entrance to the crypt.

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